


Make an exception.

by Lestradesexwife



Series: Greg/Irene [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Magical Realism, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, actual stargate references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg and Irene have swapped bodies with the aid of some alien technology.</p><p>Irene takes advantage.</p><p>Greg is uncomfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_xmasmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/gifts).



The teleconference was anti-climatic. Greg was stuck in the back corner while the Baskerville scientists pretended to take notes. According to Doctor Jackson there was nothing they could do on this end but wait. The stone around Greg’s neck, it was still odd to look down and see breasts and curves, was part of a pair. The “biceps not brains” marine had only purchased one of the set, Jackson explained that there would be no damage or lasting effects, and they could probably reverse the process once they were able to acquire the matching stone.

********   


Jackson further explained that the stones were a less effective version of something called a “communication stone” which allowed the body swapping over unlimited distances and were capable of being used by multiple people.  The stone Greg was wearing was used in marriage rituals and once they touched they bonded to the person wearing them.

********   


General O’Neil was very sympathetic to Greg’s plight and was tasking a SG team to return to the planet where Biceps had purchased the necklace to retrieve the matching stone. Jackson was confident that once the stones were reunited Greg and Irene would be returned to their proper bodies and all would be well. He was also sure that the necklaces could be removed once they were reunited, and that they would have bonded so they would be harmless to anyone else. This obviously irated the Baskerville scientists who were obviously hoping that the stones could be used for some sort of intelligence gathering or covert operations.

********   


Greg tried not to worry about the fact that he was alien-married to Irene, he was just glad that John wasn’t allowed into the briefing. It was going to be difficult enough explaining that he was going to be in Irene’s body until they found the matching stone, without explaining the mating rituals of a civilization across the galaxy.

********   


His attention snapped back to the screen as Jackson said, “We are sending a team now, we just hope that the market Knight visited is a regular thing and not part of the spring festival. Hopefully we can get you back,” he waved his hands, “in short order. We will let you know when we have something for you.”

********   


Everyone in the room, and on the other side of the television screen, ignored him when he squawked at the idea of spending a year in Irene’s body. He was trapped at the base, they didn’t want him going out with the necklace on, and he wasn’t all that eager to leave Irene alone in his body. It wasn’t like he could go back to London like this anyway, showing up at the Yard in the body of a supposedly dead dominatrix... Well that idea didn’t bear thinking on really.

********   


He found himself trying not to touch her, to the extent that he was holding her arms away from her body. It felt **wrong** somewhere deep in his brain to be touching something that didn’t belong to him. And at the same time there was no break between this body and his mind, the sensation of fabric over his skin, dammit it was her skin, the unconscious shifts and twitches, chewing on her lips and the inside of her mouth. All of it felt perfectly natural and it was **weird**.

********   


He wanted to go to bed, close her eyes and try not to do anything at all until he could be returned to his body. Because there were parts of him that were definitely not his, his mind shied away from even thinking about them. Although the first time he had tried to go to the loo he had stood in front of the toilet for an embarrassing amount of time before he had been able to even remove the hospital trousers and knickers to sit down.

********   


He left the briefing room and was immediately surrounded by his escort, two nearly identical privates who didn’t speak except to say “No.” and would not make eye contact. Greg wasn’t allowed to go outside, although John had gotten a bit shouty about that and Greg hoped he’d be allowed to go out for some air eventually. They had names, but Greg was ignoring them in turn. Thing one fell in in front of Greg and thing two behind and they walked him back to the quarters he was sharing with Irene.

********   


Thing one opened the door and held it while Greg passed, then he pulled it closed behind him. Greg tried not to shudder at the sound of the lock engaging. _Temporary, it is only temporary._ This room was dark grey, had a rack of military issue bunks and two small wardrobes as well as a table with two chairs, the door to the ensuite bathroom was on the opposite wall to the hallway door. Irene had turned off the overhead lights and the room was lit only by a floor lamp beside the beds.

********   


“Well?” Hearing his voice was a comfort and deeply disturbing at the same time. Irene was stretched out on the top bunk, and she rolled over to look at him with his own eyes.

********   


“Biceps should have bought himself a matching necklace, and then you could have swapped with him and left me out of it. The Americans are sending someone to get me the matching stone and then we can get back in the right bodies.” Greg was suddenly tired, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in the tiny bunk and sleep.

********   


“Can I turn that out?” Greg waved his hand at the light. “I think it might be tomorrow.” Irene was wearing his watch (and his wrist), and being underground had destroyed Greg’s sense of day and night.

********   


Irene made a noise that was either indifference or agreement and flopped back down on the bed.

********   


She’d been staring at the ceiling before he came in, stroking his cock gently, trying to find the right rhythm to bring herself off. This wasn’t something she was accustomed to, even from the other side of her skin. Her occasional male clients weren’t given the privilege of her hands, she’d have them begging at her feet to be allowed to jerk themselves off. But there was no way in hell she was going to pass up a chance to see what all the fuss was about.

********   


When she started she’d been thinking about things she thought the body would like, she’d shied away from thoughts of John. There was just entirely too much mutual dislike between them, so she had concentrated on Sherlock, trying to conjure images of Sherlock and this body. Imagining what his lips would feel like around this cock, but she had no frame of reference for that, and the fantasy kept slipping back into memory of their time together in Karachi. Which worked, it turned her on and his cock got hard, but instead of fantasizing about Greg’s body she ended up thinking about what it would have been like to have swapped with Sherlock, to make love to herself from inside Sherlock’s skin.

********   


Her hand had stilled on his cock and she had taken several deep breaths to force herself out of that particular line of thinking. She was stuck in Greg’s skin, there was nothing she could do about that now. And it was pointless and, if she allowed herself to feel it, painful to think that perhaps she could have a second chance with Sherlock from inside this skin.

********   


Greg had arrived while she was trying to compose herself, and the sight of her own body had caused his cock to grow hard again.  When Greg turned out the light Irene wiggled his fingers back into the waistband of his pants and grasped his cock again. Maybe Kate, but no Kate didn’t like men either, and it was strange to think about making love to someone she cared about in a way that was not comfortable for her partner.

********   


She had a very strict separation of work and personal life, not that she didn’t enjoy the things that she and Kate had done. Kate’s pleasure was addictive, and hard won, and it gave Irene pleasure to tease it from her. Even with Irene at the controls she doubted that Kate would enjoy anything Greg’s body would do to her.

********   


She imagined rolling over and dropping to the floor, pulling Greg to her and spreading his legs. Teasing his moans from Irene’s lips, Greg wrapped her legs around his head while she lapped at his clit. His hand moved faster on his cock and the bed swayed in time to her motions. Irene bit his lip, just a gentle tug of skin between his teeth and tried not to moan. Imagining Greg begging for more, imagining teasing, sliding tongue and tips of fingers over her body. Would he beg, or demand, _“God, Irene, fuck me. I need my cock, please.”_

********   


She hovered right at the edge of release for an uncomfortable amount of time, trying to find the trigger that would push his body over and allow her to feel the pleasure dancing along the edges of his nerves.

********   


She knew that he didn’t mean it that way, but when she finally let out a tiny groan, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t make it over the edge, he stirred on the lower bunk. Her voice, nearly pained, “God, Irene! Don’t. Stop please!” His hand twisted, just so, in a motion she would never make on her own body and he came. She thought that she had been returned to her own body for an instant and was irrationally angry that she was going to miss the experience. Then she felt his cock twitch in his hand and another wave of pleasure passed through her, _“Fuck, yes.”_ She was suddenly impressed that any of her male clients could answer questions at all after they had come, and she resolved to be less scornful when she was returned to herself.

********   


There was a choked sound from the lower bunk, “Why did you do that?”

********   


“Because I could,” She was starting to feel vaguely uncomfortable with the cooling semen on his groin, but the warmth of the room and the wonderful afterglow in his veins was lulling her to sleep, “you can too, I don’t mind.”

********   


She smirked as sleep pulled her under, the groan that came from bottom bunk this time was more desperate and less pained.

********   


Greg did not want to, he absolutely did not, but his efforts to contort her body so he wasn’t touching it anymore ended with her spread eagle on the tiny bunk. And that led to thoughts of his own body on the bunk above him, satisfied and sleeping. She’d know in the morning if he touched her now, worse Sherlock and John would know when they came to visit him.

**  
**Moving didn’t help, and neither did holding still. Greg closed her eyes and let the sound of his deep even breathing from the top bunk lull him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is confused. Except Sherlock.  
> Un-beta'd and unbritpicked. I wish I had someone to blame this one but it is all me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, this was supposed to be just Greg/Irene porn  
> Instead it turned into Greg/John/Sherlock emotional issues and a lot of pure rot.  
> I don't know what I am doing.  
> There will be Greg/Irene porn, I PROMISE

Sometime later there was a knock on the door. Greg, normally a slow riser, found himself instantly awake and standing at the door.

********   


“You have a visitor.”

********   


“Just let me, I need to.” Greg felt irrationally panicked, he knew that the visitor had to be either John or Sherlock, and they were both used to seeing him first thing in the morning. There was no reason for Greg to feel self conscious. But he was nervous. The guard had said he only had one visitor. Was something wrong? He closed the door in the guards face and ran into the bathroom, wondering if he was going to be sick. He curled over the counter, trying to breathe deeply and not look at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were closed tight but he heard and felt Irene come into the room. There was the lightest of touches against her cheek and he flinched away. “Don’t.”

********   


“We will be alright, you will be alright. If it was someone else John would be fine. He doesn’t like me much I’m afraid.”

********   


“I know, but he does like me.” Greg folded her arms across her chest, trying to hold in the fear and panic that was nearly overwhelming him. He hated this, it was wrong, to be cut off from the people that he needed and would normally turn to in times of crisis and danger.

********   


“Here, let me do something with your hair, I’m sure John will be back later today. But I won’t have  you going out looking like that.”

********   


Irene closed the distance between them and slid his hands gently over her shoulders. “Did you even have a long hair phase in your youth? I don’t want you getting frustrated and cutting my hair.” She reached around Greg and picked up the brush from the counter, gently but effectively pulling it through the sleep snarls on Greg’s head. “I think just a ponytail for now. But I can put it up so it will stay out of your way later.”

********   


Greg allowed Irene’s touch to sooth him, the repetitive motion of the brush through her hair was hypnotic and he found some of the tension leaking from her shoulders.

********   


Irene lent forward again and snagged an elastic from the pile on the counter, pressing his body against Greg. Greg tried not to melt into the contact, and was nearly relieved when Irene tugged her hair up into a high ponytail, except for the traces of sparks that attended on the pull of the hair across her scalp. Irene let his hands fall onto her shoulders when she finished the pony tail, but didn’t pull Greg towards her. “Give my love to Sherlock. Try not to leave any marks, and don’t get pregnant.”

********   


“I... really? I don’t think...” Greg pulled away and turned to face Irene. It had actually been easier to look into her eyes through the mirror, and Greg felt something that might have been nausea to have to look up into his eyes. “I don’t understand, you _want_ me to? With Sherlock?”

********   


“It is nothing that hasn’t happened before, I’m pretty sure that is why he came alone. I can’t see John wanting... well. He doesn’t want me. Never did. Outside this,” she gestured vaguely with his hand, “Sherlock will understand that it is you in there. John, well... it might take him awhile to understand that you are still you. Despite everything.” She leaned forward and pressed a dry chaste kiss against Greg’s forehead. Causing his world to shift uncomfortably.

********   


“God, I’m a giant.” He groaned and pressed himself against Irene. Allowing himself a moment of comfort inside the circle of Irene’s arms, breathing in the familiar scents of his shaving cream and cologne.

********   


She laughed, and pushed him away. “That is weird, I expected to be bumping into things and knocking your head into doorways, but it all just feels natural. Is it like that for you too?”

********   


He hummed agreement, “It is like I have always been here, but that is so bizarre. But I know it isn’t mine. I don’t think I can... I mean I don’t think Sherlock wants to either, but it doesn’t seem... right.” His mind stuttered, trying to understand why he felt guilty and frankly perverted for feeling pleasure inside her body. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, she had said that she didn’t mind him touching her, and she was encouraging him to use her body with Sherlock. She’d taken without asking him, and he thought he should be angry with her. But somehow he couldn’t muster the arguments against what had happened. She’d touched him, but she hadn’t really, she had touched herself. He turned away and looked at them in the mirror, when they were both still it was easy for him to imagine that he was back in his own body, but as soon as he blinked he could tell the difference again.

********   


“I should go, Sherlock is waiting.”

Irene stepped back giving Greg room to move past him and back into their little shared room. He took a moment to compose himself before he opened the door again. He was relieved that it did swing open, to reveal his guard. “Okay, lets go.”

********   


The guard took him to the elevator and they rode up to the ground level, Greg felt a pang in her chest at the closeness to the outside world.

********   


Sherlock was waiting for him in a small windowless meeting room. Two cups of takeaway coffee and two containers sitting on the table. Sherlock was sprawled, as far as he could be in the room from the food, in a chair clearly in his mind palace. Greg crossed to the coffee and lifted both cups. Finding them both full he cracked open the lid on one.

********   


“There’s cream and sugar in the box.” Sherlock surprises him by speaking, he mustn’t have been that far into the palace.  “I... I wasn’t sure how you would like it. I know how you take yours. But... is preference part of the body or the mind?”

********   


“I don’t know.” He took a sip of the coffee, leaving it black for now. “Tell Gary, thanks.”

********   


Sherlock sat forward and watched him intently. Greg shifted under his gaze and took another sip of his coffee before clearing her throat and summoning his courage, “Where’s John?”

********   


“He went to see Henry, he’s... Greg, he wants to be here. You know he does, he... he is having a hard time understanding. Give him time, they don’t get along. He doesn’t trust her, but he knows that it is still you.”

********   


Greg looked down at her hands and resisted the urge to throw the coffee cup across the room in frustration. “I don’t like her that much either. I miss you.”

********   


“John has been doing more shouting, and Mycroft is working on getting you released. So at least we can all stay at the Cross Keys until...” Sherlock gestured with his left hand, “well, you know more about that than I do, they aren’t telling us anything.”

********   


Greg flinched, not able to look up at Sherlock, “It is some weird marriage ritual, apparently.” He felt her skin warming, he’d never met Irene before this but he had been told about her control. Apparently Greg didn’t have that same control. “Don’t tell John.”

********   


“That you married Irene? He’d castrate me. No I think we can keep that between us.” Sherlock stood and moved round the table, pulling Greg close and tucking her head underneath his chin. He put the cup down and wrapped her arms around Sherlock under the Belstaff. Greg knew that Sherlock had picked up on emotional cues in the time that they had been together, but he was still surprised to be offered comfort like this. He pulled Sherlock close and nuzzled into his chest, hiding her face under the edge of his coat. Savouring the warm dark space he created, basking in his scent (he’d been smoking, and Greg huffed against his chest until he realized that Irene didn’t smoke and the craving he normally associated with the smell of cigarettes was absent) and the steady familiar sound of Sherlock’s heart. He also caught vague hints of John intermingled in Sherlock’s clothes, and he wanted so badly to just disappear between them. To lose himself in the comfort of familiar arms and bodies, to have something normal. At least by Baker Street standards.

********   


He was taking deep breaths, Irene’s eyes pricking in an effort to avoid tears, when the door to the conference room slammed open. Sherlock flinched, his arms tightening around Greg, “John.” Greg tried to actually disappear into the Belstaff. He felt John’s fingers on the back of her head, tentative.

********   


“God, I’m sorry Greg. Please, I don’t know... What do you need?”

********   


Greg couldn’t move from his hiding place, and he hated it. He wanted to pull away, to be fine. To tell them that he was fine, to sit and eat breakfast with John and laugh about sport, try and tease Sherlock into picking at some of their breakfast. He wanted to go home.

********   


Her body, as much as it felt no different to move and breathe and exist inside it, wasn’t his. His reactions, desires and expectations were foreign and he fought to regain his usual levels of composure.  He couldn’t ask John to come closer, to hold him tight against Sherlock and make it better.

********   


He couldn’t ask, but John did it anyway. Greg buried her face deeper into Sherlock’s chest, he could feel the look between the other two over her head. He felt a hysterical giggle well up in her chest. He was shaking with trying to suppress it and Sherlock pulled away, looking **_down_** at him in concern.

********   


“Lestrade?”

********   


“God, she’s just tiny... How do I even fit in here?”

********   


Sherlock gave him one of his patented ‘how does your mind even work?’ looks and pulled back further. “Have you experienced any difficulties controlling your limbs, any disorientation?”

********   


Greg found himself laughing in earnest now, trying to ignore the unusual tone, as Sherlock turned over into his data-gathering mode. And he relaxed back against John, letting the warmth soothe him and her breathing return to normal. “The whole thing is disorienting, but it is actually weird how normal her body feels. I keep trying to stop touching her though... I mean, not like that.” He flushed, feeling her skin heat. “I mean, I am just constantly aware that she isn’t me.

********   


Sherlock’s eyes twitched up to John, and Greg was glad he couldn’t see John’s face right  now. “Have you... touched her?”

********   


“NO!” Greg tightened her hands over John’s arms, trying to hold him close. “She... she said I could... but I haven’t. I won’t.”

********   


Sherlock flinched and looked away, but John’s arms tightened around Greg, “It might make you feel better.”

********   


“What? Really?” Greg didn’t want to turn in John’s arms. Didn’t want to see the look of hurt that had to be in his eyes, it was a relief that John tightened his arms around her body.

********   


“We don’t know how long it will be. God, Greg. I’m sorry but I don’t think that I can. I know it is you but all i can see is her.” Sherlock steadfastly refused to look at Greg, watching the curls of steam escaping from the lid of Greg’s coffee instead. Greg could see the argument with John written in his shoulders and the slight downward curve of his lips, he’d lost then. Because Sherlock could, he had told them about the night in Karachi, not the details but enough... enough to know that Sherlock could even if, **because** , it was Greg looking back at him.

********   


“So you are going to leave me here with her then?”

********   


John squeezed tighter and Greg thought she might break under the strain, and it hurt to know that John’s eyes were squeezed shut as he pressed a kiss against her forehead, “No, Greg. We will be here until this is over. Even if I have to go to America and break into the base and get it myself. We will fix this.”

********   


Sherlock came close again, ran his fingers over her jaw and leaned down to plant a kiss, gently on her lips. “ _Greg_ ,” he breathed against her lips, “I am going to get you out of here.” It didn’t really matter if Sherlock was referring to Baskerville or Irene’s body. Greg would take both.

********   


Greg pulled on the Belstaff, drawing Sherlock closer and deepening the kiss.

********   


Greg holds on, tries not to feel John pulling away. That Sherlock understands this better than either of them is impossible, but Sherlock is holding tight to John’s arms, not letting him move away from Greg. He sighs and breaks the kiss, gently pushing Sherlock away, “Thank you, I know we will be okay. I don’t want to do anything that will...” He doesn’t know how to say, I don’t want to do anything that will ruin us later. He can wait, he will survive this and go home and there is nothing worth losing what he has built with Sherlock and John.

********   


He sat down at the table and pulls one of the takeaways towards her. Savouring the vegetarian version of a full English that Gary had sent. Years of living with John have accustomed him to veggie bacon. John sat down next to him but pushed the extra container away, looking down at his fingers, running the ball of his thumb over his other thumbnail. Greg watched his hands move, and wanted to reach out to him. Her hands were not the ones that John wanted so he returned his attention to the food in front of her. After several minutes of silence he cleared her throat and asked, “How about the football then? They won’t let us have a telly, god knows why.”

Sherlock groaned, and threw himself back into the room’s last chair. John and Greg laughed and for a moment they were almost able to forget the difference, Sherlock’s general dislike of all things sport meant that John and Greg spent a lot of nights out at the pub together.

********   


Greg finished his breakfast as John regaled him with tales of goals and poor calls by the refs; injuries and defeats. Sherlock stared at them as though they were aliens, something completely unfamiliar. When Greg pushed away the carton he sighed, and dared a glance at John.

********   


“Shall I take this down for her then?” His head nodding at the untouched container. He really didn’t want to leave, but he had a sense that he would not be allowed to keep them here all day.

********   


“If you like, yes. We can come back for dinner.”

********   


“It is very basic rations, down there... I can’t imagine I’m enjoying it.” The food they had brought him last night had been a step above bread and water, but only just. He didn’t think Baskerville had an on site mess hall, and if they did he wouldn’t want to have to eat there through an entire tour.

********   


He tried not to think about what Irene might be doing down there with his body. There wasn’t much to do, since they had been denied television, books and the basic ability to move around. “I dunno, can you bring something to read? Maybe a deck of cards? Something to take our minds off...?”

********   


Sherlock sighed and almost immediately there was a knock on the door, “I brought some things... of yours. And some things for her as well.” He didn’t look at John as he said it, and Greg realized that he had gone out, bought things that would fit Irene, him now. “They, well they checked it for... maybe files or lockpicks. Weapons.” He glared at the private who brought in a large black travel bag. The private had the sense to drop the bag and turn smartly on his heel, closing the door quietly behind him.

********   


“Thank you.” He stood and the other two stood as well. He laughed, her high clear laugh, that they should both be so old-fashioned to stand when a lady does. He smiled and stood on the balls of her feet to press a kiss against Sherlock’s cheek. Fucking weird as it was, and he resolved never to mention John’s height again.

********   


He turned to John, “Dinner?”

********   


“Dinner.”

********   


Greg nodded, shouldered the bag and scooped up the takeaway and the coffee. John held the door open and Sherlock laughed this time. Greg’s escorts were outside the door, but they didn’t offer to carry anything for her. Chivalry might be dead after all.

********   


After that they fell into a routine, breakfast and dinner Greg spent with John and Sherlock. Sherlock picking small bites off either John or Greg’s plate, and chattering on about all the details of the people who were staying at the Cross Keys. The second day they were given a television, and access to a treadmill. Greg and Irene took turns walking on the treadmill and reading from a book that John had smuggled in to them. They ate whatever horrible thing the “kitchen” at Baskerville sent down for lunch. And Greg brough Irene back whatever the boys had brought from the Keys for breakfast and dinner.

****  
** **

It wasn’t until the end of the first week that Irene cracked.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why it happened but this turned into a monster...  
> Please forgive.  
> One more, and it will be a fun one.

> They hadn’t heard anything from the Americans, and Greg wasn’t sure if that was because the Americans hadn’t said anything or if the Baskerville crew were keeping them in the dark. Greg had been taken to several different labs to have tests run on the stone around her neck. So far none of the results had been shared with Greg.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Irene had been confined to the room, and the room with the treadmill in it for the duration. He passed on bits of news to her when he had them, but for the most part she was isolated.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> It was Saturday morning, and Greg was having a bit of a lie-in when Irene came storming out of the bathroom, completely naked and dripping from the shower, “Did you use the last of the shaving foam?”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “No, there’s a new one in the kit.” Greg had been carefully keeping Irene’s personal hygiene regimen, spending what he believed to be a ludicrous amount of time in the bathroom every day. Part of his desire to return to his body was the simple time saving aspect. He’d tried to use his hair product in Irene’s hair the first day, she had almost murdered him when she saw the state of her hair.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “No there bloody isn’t!”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Greg rolled over and got out of bed, sliding past Irene into the bathroom. He retrieved the travel kit from the shelf under the counter and opened it, pulling out the new bottle of shaving foam John had dropped off with breakfast yesterday. “There, see? It is alright.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Irene loomed in the doorway, and Greg was suddenly conscious of how large he was. He’d always tried to be aware of power dynamics, holding himself back, never crowding into the personal space of others. But with Irene behind his eyes, and her body wasn’t fragile, she had a subtle strength that had surprised Greg, Greg became aware that he was cornered. He could fight his way out of the room, but he felt a surge of fear and panic knowing that he was out-matched.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> It must have shown in her eyes, because Irene immediately backed out of the bathroom and let Greg pass him by. She didn’t reach out, but she looked him over and suddenly he felt that he was the one naked, damp skin cooling in the not quite warm enough air. “I wouldn’t... I won’t ever do that to you. Not just because it is me. I know what it is to be afraid. I hate it here and I want out. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “It is alright, finish up in there.” He stood in the centre of the room, trying to decide what to do. John and Sherlock would be expecting him upstairs soon, but he couldn’t leave Irene alone down here. It was fairly obvious that she was cracking under the pressure of what was very nearly solitary confinement. He hadn’t been outside in a week, and he missed the sky, but at least he has had contact with other people.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Irene had only had him, his gut twisted as he realized that he hadn’t exactly been... fair to her. Leaving her alone while he went off to spend time with his partners. Granted that they weren’t doing anything, but they still gave him something to look forward to. Without them he would have gone round the twist early in the week.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Irene came out of the bathroom, his face free of stubble and a towel wrapped around his waist. Greg cleared her throat, but maintained her distance. “I’m going up, for breakfast, I will be back as soon as I can... If you want me to keep you company?”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Irene looked surprised, and Greg tried to contain the flinch at that. They were in this together, sort of, and he had failed entirely to take care of her so far. His brain stuttered a bit, trying to reconcile ‘the woman’ with the person staring at him from behind his eyes. “I mean, if you... if you want company. I can come right back down... John’s been... he’s been trying to get a pass for the village. I don’t know... I mean there is nothing there... but it isn’t here. I won’t go without you.” He finished speaking in a rush, seeing the panic in his eyes when he mentioned leaving the base. “I mean I can get John to be a bit more shouty, we can both use some...” He spread her hands indicating the small room, “space.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Irene blinked quickly, and Greg fought the urge to go to her and press himself against his body. She tried twice before she managed, “Please... Tell him I won’t run. I just need, to not be in this room. I want to be me again... I didn’t know, there is no plan. No game. I... please.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Greg nodded and slid past her, closing and bolting the door to the bathroom behind him. He stripped quickly, without glancing at the mirror. He waited until he was safe under the spray of the shower before he choked on a sob.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> His resolve was firmed and his composure restored before he left the bathroom again. He dressed quickly and simply in Irene’s clothes, the feeling of the bra almost second nature now as he slid it over her shoulders.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> He stopped near the bunks, Irene was sprawled on top of her blankets, reading the book that they were sharing. “I’ll be right back.” He tried to smile to lessen the betrayal, “Don’t go anywhere.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> She rolled his eyes at him over the top of the book, but he saw the smallest lift in the corners of his mouth and knew it would be alright to leave her alone for a few minutes.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> He turned and opened the door, it always opened for him in the morning but the security detail was standing just outside the door. Once he was in the hallway he heard the locks engage and he wondered what kind of cameras they had set up in their room.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Hallway, elevator, hallway and he was standing outside the door to the conference room where John and Sherlock would be waiting. He put out her hand and rested it on the door, waiting a tick to center himself before pushing it open. If this didn’t work he would be cutting himself off from the only other human contact he was allowed. He just had to believe that it would work.
> 
> ********
> 
> John was reading the paper and Sherlock was doing something on his phone when Greg came in. A casual observer would think the two men strangers, but Greg knew that Sherlock’s foot was tracing tiny circles at John’s ankle under the table. And that John was holding the paper _just so_ allowing him to read and still watch the movement of Sherlock’s fingers over his phone.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Greg stopped just inside the door, he didn’t think he would be able to back away if he sat down at the table with them. John was just now starting to see Greg behind Irene’s eyes, and they were developing a level of comfort that made Greg feel whole and let him forget about why they were stuck here.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Sherlock noticed first, he always noticed things before John. But Greg had the feeling that Sherlock was balanced, that he had been anticipating this possibly all morning... maybe for days.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Greg cleared her throat, “I can’t stay.” He tried not to flinch away from John’s gaze as he dropped the paper.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “What, why?” John was bewildered, off balance and disquieted by the change in their routine.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “I need to go back downstairs, she... well it is harder on her than me. I have you to look forward to, she’s alone.” Greg shifted, curling her fingers into the hem of the loose t-shirt she was wearing. Years of exposure to Sherlock had diminished his tells, but the newness of Irene’s body broadcast his emotions more effectively than words.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “You should have sex.” Of course Sherlock would get straight to the weirdly chewy centre of the problem.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “She sent me up here the first day, told me to give her love to you and not to get pregnant. I don’t think that would actually help though.” Greg can’t take her eyes off John. They must have talked about it before they arrived, Greg can’t help but wonder what they are talking about when they are alone. John is calm, accepting and looks like he is ready to cross the room to comfort Greg. Greg doesn’t think he can handle that and he backs up against the door. “I just need to go back downstairs, but I didn’t want you to worry. We need out, and the Americans are taking their sweet time.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> John shifted in his chair, looking down and folding the paper, smoothing the creases out of the corners. “We worry anyway, this place... I hate leaving you here.” He turned his head to Sherlock and nodded. “Go on then.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Sherlock rose, and fished something out of the pocket of the Belstaff. Greg had tried once to describe the way that Sherlock moved, he didn’t prowl, or slink. His posture always perfect, his strides long, the movement of his arms precise. And yet, it was and is, one of the most sensual things Greg has ever seen. He stopped, not quiet inside Greg’s personal space and extended his hand. Greg found it very difficult to break eye contact with him, to the point that she was dizzy from having to look up at him. When her eyes finally snapped down to the offering in Sherlock’s hand, not a lock pick or magic keycard, a box of condoms.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “John?” Greg was sure this was Sherlock’s idea, he knew that Sherlock didn’t think about sex outside of motives and... well Sherlock didn’t often need persuading, but Greg could feel the “For Science, John.” behind Sherlock’s expression.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> “I really don’t want to know about it. I know it is you in there Greg, but I can’t... she’s,” Sherlock’s body obscures Greg’s view of John but he can picture John’s defeated hand wave as he gropes for words to explain how he feels. “I can’t, Sherlock...” Greg’s eyes snap back to Sherlock’s and he can see the hunger there. “Sherlock would be down there with you both I think.” Sherlock’s eyes close and he rocks closer to Greg. “Except they won’t let us in.” Greg feels pinned to the door with the weight of Sherlock’s frustration and desire. “Frankly the whole thing is weird, and I can’t get my brain around it... but I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t... we’ve never been, well we are exclusive, sort of, but we’ve never been exactly normal. I can’t even... I mean it is more like assisted masturbation with sex... or something.” John trails off and Greg can feel the force of his embarrassment cresting over Sherlock’s shoulders.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Sherlock’s eyes open and drift across Irene’s body. “This isn’t permanent. We will get you out, both of you if necessary. Mycroft... I’ve promised to help on his next case, he’ll get through eventually.”
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Greg felt a brief moment of sympathy for Mycroft, quickly quashed against the weight of all the ills he had visited on Sherlock over the years, should he fail to convince the proper authorities to release Greg and Irene. “I have to go. I can’t come back up tomorrow. I promised to stay with her until...” He hadn’t really, but he had meant it when he said the would stay with her.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> Sherlock didn’t move closer, and Greg was profoundly glad, as much as he wanted to lose himself in Sherlock’s arms. He carefully plucked the box from Sherlock’s hand, keeping her fingers away from Sherlock’s skin. He didn’t think he could go back to Irene if they touched again. He moved away from the door and scooped up the take-away containers that contained breakfast from the Cross Keys. The coffees were still in the little paper holder and he briefly considered logistics. Irene’s jeans didn’t have anything approaching sensible pockets, he put the take-aways back down and tucked the box into the waist of her jeans, pulling the shirt down so that the bulge would not be noticeable. The last thing he needed was the guard knowing what they were up to.
> 
> ********   
> 
> 
> He looked across the table at John and her throat went dry. Greg had no idea which would come first, Mycroft getting them released or the Americans turning up with the matching necklace that would let him return to his body. Either way this would be the last time he saw John and Sherlock.
> 
> ****  
>  ** **
> 
> “We’ll get you out, don’t worry.” John was trying to be sensible and comforting and Greg could only nod, the ends of Irene’s ponytail trailing over her neck and making him shiver.
> 
> **  
> **“I’ll see you soon.” He turned quickly and opened the door, trying to keep her head up and movements sure. Despite every instinct screaming at him to turn and run back, lose herself in their touch and presence **.**  
> 


End file.
